Review of The Tree of Life (2011) by Brett R — 06 Dec 2012

As the lights dimmed to darken the biggest room at Angelika Dallas, I hadn't the slightest idea what to expect. I had seen the trailer for "The Tree of Life" several times over, and was aware of its receiving of the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival, but the film has maintained an elusive, enigmatic aura amongst critics and movie-goers alike. Parties of people were still filing into the theater as the title card appeared, indicating that a pervasive, feverish buzz was in the air over the much anticipated fifth feature from that lyrical poet of the cinema-the notoriously reclusive and introspective of all American filmmakers-Terrence Malick. What transpired was the most confounding, beautiful and fascinating movie watching experience I have ever been a part of. "The Tree of Life" transcends the framework of traditional motion pictures, creating something that must be deeply felt and fully experienced. It's an invitation to-if not an eavesdrop on-the most intimate thoughts and recollections of a filmmaker pondering deeply the universe and our place in it. It redefines cinematic ambition through self-indulgence, and is a work that is as pretentious as it is mesmerizing, frustrating as it is beautiful and disjointed as it is sensible. It's a film that defies narrative structure, spans the distance and time of our universe, and culminates in the breezy rooms of summer in a 1950's Waco, Texas family home. It's a series of memories, intimate recollections and poetic images that ponder life's biggest questions: "Who are we?" and "Why are we here?".

Ten minutes into the film, I began to realize that this trip to the theater was going to be unlike any I've previously had within the confines of a jam-packed, midday matinee. What was transpiring on the screen was something deeply personal. It's not a film that desires our admiration or acceptance, nor is it aiming to please anyone that might not yet fully subscribe to the niche following of Terrence Malick's philosophical, deliberate filmmaking. What it is, at its core, is a reflective piece of art by an artist doing what all artists set out to do: to partake in the process of creation with intent to express. His paintbrush: the camera. His canvas: the screen. From there, we go. In the beginning, we see the "Big Bang" and the establishment of life through a series of colorful, interpretive cosmic images. It's a fast paced ride through the culmination of the cosmos rife with flowing space debris and planetary substance. Then we arrive at the film's centerpiece: Mother, Father and their three sons. The eldest, played in later life by Sean Penn, reflects on his time spent in childhood under the disciplinary regimen of his father (Brad Pitt) and the contrasting, docile maternal oversight of his mother (Jessica Chastain). The time that the film spends with the family is parceled out through reflection and recollection by Penn's character as a young boy playing, longing, discovering, loving and even hating. These sequences are filmed brilliantly through the filter of a mind's eye, creating the feeling of conjured memories filled with lasting, impressionistic imagery.

Nothing really happens in these sequences, per se. But that's not necessarily the point. By observing the actions of the child, his brothers and their parents, the viewer is instilled with the nuances of contemplation, self-discovery and introspection-the precise goal of Malick's intent. In between these memory-induced sequences are the actions of Father. His hard line, disciplinary tendencies conjure up further contemplation by the boy-contemplation that is effectively aided by the quiet whispers of voice-over narration, a leitmotif that is prevalent in all of Malick's work. The two are constantly at odds with one another, perpetuating an ever-present ethical dilemma for the child. Through and through, the overwhelming sense of "Why?" permeates the films' deliberately paced occurrences, and this is definitely true of the sequences previously described. Just as the film begins with life, it ends with its conclusion. The movie's coda carries us to the final interpretive vision of Malick's imaginative afterlife where reconciliation between father, son, mother, man and his existence are blissfully achieved. Whether it exists or is strictly symbolic is up to the viewer. Some of the films' most moving imagery comes from these scenes. They're charged with emotional energy, and stand as a firmly held, representative vision of the reconciliation between our fears and life's biggest mystery.

This is the film. While we watch these meditative, lyrical and impressionistic occurrences, we're left with an enormous amount to absorb and ponder. Guided by breathtaking cinematography, a beautiful score and the remarkable abilities of an artist at the height of his game to tie it all together, "The Tree of Life" is an experience unlike anything ever created through the cinematic medium. With that said, it is far from flawless. At 150 minutes, it's overly-long and noticeably disjointed. Several sequences could have been tossed during the editing process, eliminating some of the material that caused certain scenes to drag unnecessarily. However, its sheer ambition and uniqueness of vision far outweigh its pervasive flaws. The Tree of Life is at once many things, and attempts to encompass all, and that is extremely admirable. It's by no means for everyone, but something this rare begs to be experienced. Even if you feel it's not for you, go and see it. Bring a friend, or three. Then, go to the bar, and over a beer, discuss. You owe it to yourself. But, if you choose not to, at least you can place bets on when Brad Pitt, Sean Penn and dinosaurs might once again find themselves in the same film during the walk from the theater to your car.